


Something Might Be Found

by Omorka



Category: Firefly
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-04 23:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon fixes a meal at the end of a long day, under the watchful eye of his captain - and maybe someone else's, as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Might Be Found

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Mal tries to make Inara jealous by seducing Simon (having eliminated the rest of the crew as potential lovers); seduction, jealousy" for the 13th round of Rounds Of Kink at LJ. No serious spoilers, but possibly mild ones through the end of the TV series.

"Lookin' for something?" Mal's voice was louder than was strictly necessary in the cramped galley.

Simon had heard the boots behind him, but he still started at the sudden question. He carefully set the can he was holding down on the counter and turned, slowly, towards the captain. "River was too agitated to come up for dinner, so I sat with her until she calmed down. I thought I'd come up and prepare something quick for us."

Mal nodded, his expression somewhere between sympathy and calculation. "Jayne ate your portions. Said you could take it out of his ration later. I reckon a can or two won't annoy him much."

Simon inclined his head in acknowledgment and returned to the cabinet. It wasn't crowded enough. Every time he thought he'd gotten used to scarcity, it snuck up on him again. His fingers nudged aside a short stack and plucked a small container from the column behind it.

Mal leaned against the table and watched as Simon emptied the two cans into a pot and stirred. "Succotash."

Shaking his head, the doctor added a pinch of their precious store of pepper and a larger pinch of salt. "Not exactly. We don't have any butter or cream."

"Cream?" The captain's nose wrinkled at the suggestion. "Back home, we always made it with tomatoes, when we had 'em. When we didn't, that was it, what you've got there."

"Ah." The tomato variation actually sounded pleasant. Simon placed the saucepan over the heating unit and kept stirring; he wondered if they had any canned tomatoes, but he'd used up his two-container allotment already.

"You gonna take that back down to your quarters, or you gonna coax _mei-mei_ up here to eat?" Mal was unusually chatty. Either that, or he was worried about River being unsupervised.

Simon shook his head. "She's asleep right now. She - I ended up giving her a mild sedative to calm her." His eyes dropped, rimmed with guilt, to the pot in front of him. "I was going to eat my share up here and take the rest down to her for later." Right on cue, his stomach growled at him; he winced at the noise.

Mal gave him a lopsided grin. "Sounds like you could use a meal." His expression shifted again, his eyes narrowing a bit but the grin spreading out. "Mind if I keep you company while you eat? Wash threw me off the bridge for meddling, and I can't see my way clear to going to sleep just yet."

"Suit yourself," Simon shrugged. The mixture in the pan began to bubble thickly; he stirred it down and sniffed at the steam. If he thought they could spare a bit more pepper, he'd add it, but they couldn't. He spooned it into two bowls, one a little less than the other. The medications he had River on now tended to sap her appetite, and she'd never been a voracious eater, although she'd certainly enjoyed a good meal before . . . .

Mal scooped his little finger across the edge of Simon's bowl and then stuck it in his mouth. "Mmph. Book ever leaves, suppose you'd do as a cook."

"I haven't done anything to it except heat it up." Simon's eyes followed the finger as it trailed along the captain's lip. He swallowed and turned his gaze back to the succotash.

"Sure. But there's nothing wrong with it." Mal looked at the ceiling, thoughtfully. "Not too much right with it, either, but that's none of your doing." His eyes settled back onto the doctor; Simon could feel them on him, watching the movements of his hands. "Maybe it'd be nice with cream."

"I'd settle for fresh ingredients. Or just the butter, honestly." Simon dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and realized he hadn't gotten anything to drink. His mouth was oddly dry. He stood and retrieved a mug from the galley, filling it full of water at the sink.

Scooting his chair a bit closer, Mal tapped at the table just to the side of Simon's bowl. "Never got around to asking - did you have a girl you left, back home?"

Simon blinked. Where had that come from? "No," he answered carefully, "I was too invested in my work to have much time for affairs of the heart. There's no one who will miss me enough to come looking for me, no jilted lover lying in wait in some port somewhere." He settled back into his seat and returned to the impromptu stew.

"Wasn't quite what I was getting at." Mal smiled, a slightly crooked grin that spoke of mischief and half-truths. "So, no girl, and no boys either?"

"Oh." Simon cradled the mug in both hands as he raised it to his mouth, and took a long sip to buy a moment to respond. "No. I had a brief fling with a couple during my first year in medical school, but it was a lighthearted thing, and it ended, if pleasantly." He took another sip, rolled it around his mouth, and swallowed carefully. "I simply haven't ever had both the time and the inclination at the same time since." He met Mal's unreadable gaze. "Why? Do you need someone younger than you for bait?"

The captain laughed, a short, sardonic bark. "You saying I'm too old to be attractive?"

"Not at all." The spoon trailed between the last few limas. "Merely that there are some professions you might need a dummy for, and that I'm more or less the correct demographic."

Mal shrugged. "You're right. 'Specially if we needed a high-class rent boy. Might mean you'd never get a Companion again, though - they don't take too kindly to competition." His grin twisted at the corner, as if caught on some private bitterness.

"I doubt I'll ever be able to afford one again," the doctor snorted. "Not that I availed myself of the service very often, even when I could."

"And why's that?" Mal was leaning even nearer now, as if he found something fascinating about Simon's wrists.

The close attention was beginning to make Simon nervous. "There's something impersonal about an interlude with a Companion, despite all their training to make you feel special. It's always professional, no matter how good their bedside manner is." The spoon scraped the last dregs from the bowl. "Or perhaps that's merely the ones who practiced on Osiris."

Mal's fingers traced along the edge of Simon's sleeve. "I wouldn't know. Soldiers don't get high-class whores." His voice was louder than it needed to be, as if he were hoping to be overheard. The rough skin of his fingers caught on the silk fabric. "But it seems to me that there'd be something missing, yeah."

Simon pointedly did not look at what Mal's hand was doing. "How so?"

"You've got to know someone a while to develop the right kind of friction. Otherwise, there's no heat." Mal was definitely stroking his arm now.

Simon swallowed again. Unconsciously, he inhaled sharply, his nose hunting for the telltale trace of alcohol. He didn't smell any on Mal. The captain hitting on him drunk he could just barely imagine, but what could drive him to do so sober?

He needed to figure it out before he either insulted Mal by rejecting him too late in the process or . . . or what? That was terribly distracting. Mal's hand traced down the inside of the doctor's arm to the wrist, danced around, stroked the back of his hand, played with his fingers.

He decided to go for the direct approach. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Doing a little more than flirting." Mal smiled again, teeth flashing like a predator's. "I haven't had a bed-partner in a while. Thought it might be nice." His face was close, now, only a few inches from Simon's ear. "Thought _you_ might be nice." The hand moved up the doctor's arm again, firm and strangely gentle.

The signs of rising blood pressure rushed in Simon's ears. "You don't even like me."

"I've gotten used to you. You gotta admit, you take a little getting used to." Mal's hands, both of them now, were on Simon's shoulders, massaging gently. Simon leaned back into the touch involuntarily; he wanted to moan, to let his head drop and just savor the backrub. "I can't say you're hard on the eyes, though. And your hands are talented enough." His breath ghosted across Simon's left ear, warm and just a bit damp.

"How would you know?" Simon raised one eyebrow at the captain, glancing over his shoulder.

"I've seen you work enough." Something flickered in Mal's dark eyes, like he was making a decision. "Question is, is your mouth as talented as your big words make it sound?"

Simon made it for him. "Perhaps you'd like to find out?" The words surprised him, although if Mal had expected anything else, he didn't show it. His lips were on Simon's almost as soon as he finished speaking. God, it had been too long; the captain's mouth was rough and needy, and Simon pushed everything he could into the kiss, coaxing Mal's tongue out and teasing it. His hands trailed through Mal's hair; Mal's traced lower, sliding over Simon's hips and promising more.

Simon slithered half-out of his chair, leaning towards the strength that was Mal's body; the captain curled an arm around him, supporting his weight, urging him forward. His head bowed into the crook of Mal's shoulder, his lips tasting salt skin, breathing in the older man's scent - leather and a hint of sweat. Strong hands pressed against him, feeling his ribs, the bones of his hips, the tightness of his nipples underneath the silk shirt. Something about the way those hands were reading him, like he was their Braille, made him feel like he was already naked. He wanted to be, fiercely.

"Nice." Mal's mouth found his again. The hands at Simon's sides gripped him without ceasing their motion, caressing him and claiming him all at once.

He should have wanted to fight. Instead, Simon wanted to beg, to let the captain scoop him up and carry him off. No, that was overstating things, but he wanted - well, he _wanted_. And that was rare enough, for him to let himself want, instead of just doing what was needed. The captain's hands slid lower, stroking over his groin and stirring up a flurry of heat.

The younger man gasped for breath, and Mal suddenly stood up. "That enough to convince you to join me for an hour or so?" The crooked grin was back, and his hips were cocked at just enough of an angle to hitch his trousers around the obvious bulge.

He'd have to reheat River's meal, but if she was still asleep he'd have had to do that anyway. "I'm allowed to change my mind if I go with you, and then decide that wasn't one of my brighter moves?"

"It'll hurt my feelin's, but I won't take it out of you, if that's what you mean." Mal tried to look casual, but there was enough genuine arousal in his face to make that difficult. "So how about it?"

His eyes were somewhere other than Simon, but the doctor was too far gone to care. "Lead the way," Simon nodded, annoyed at himself for this sudden surge of wanting, of weakness, but not willing to turn away now.

"Sure thing. Follow me," Mal chuckled, catching one of Simon's wrists in his right hand and heading for his room, boots ringing just a little louder than necessary on the grating as they went.


End file.
